


Queen's Gambit

by orsumfenix



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018), Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Eve/Villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orsumfenix/pseuds/orsumfenix
Summary: Villanelle is hired to kill a batch of clones.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Queen's Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> takes place in s2 of killing eve, before eve and villanelle reunite when villanelle's doing hired kills  
> in terms of orphan black, takes place on a very vague part of the timeline  
> i don't know how many people are in both fandoms but s3 comes out in less than two days so here this is  
> warnings for villanelle doing her usual type of killing

“What the hell,” Villanelle says. “This girl looks exactly like the last one I killed.”

“Does she?” Konstantin doesn’t even look at her. Just keeps folding shirts. “Don’t all people look the same to you?”

Villanelle wrinkles her nose at the picture.

“The last girl had better hair.”

“I can’t find my red shirt.” 

“And her shoes are ugly. Why did her twin know what looked good but she doesn’t?”

“Hey.” Konstantin clicks. “Where’s my shirt?”

Villanelle hides her face behind the picture. It’s so close she can see pixels. When will they stop sending her grainy images? When pigs do the splits. “Which shirt?”

“My red shirt.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a red shirt.”

“Now I know you’re lying, because you made fun of me for wearing it.”

She snaps the photo down to say: “It had _ruffles_.”

“Ha, ha. What did you do with it?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It is just a shirt. Get over it.”

“I don’t need to get over it.”

“Did _Carolyn_ get over it?” she asks, smiles. Konstantin shakes his head.

“Stop being a brat and tell me what you did with it.”

“I didn’t do anything.” The girl in the picture really does look just like the last girl she killed, but the file gives her a different name. Separated twins? How melodramatic. Should she kill them the same, or in opposite ways? The last girl was a fisher so Villanelle put a fish hook in her throat. Mostly for the drama, but also to stop all the begging. If she’d known a twin was coming, she would’ve done something easier to make part of a double act. “On a completely unrelated note, I hope you don’t need to pee.”

Konstantin rips open the bathroom door and stares at his shirt in dismay. It’s risen with the water in the toilet to make it look like something died in there.

He jumps when she peers round his shoulder.

“Maybe you could manage a Number One,” she relents. “But not a Number Two.”

“How many times did you flush?”

“I kept trying to push it down with the plunger but it just wouldn’t work. Then I started flushing and the water tried to attack me. I thought I was going to die.”

“Why did you do this?” He sounds more upset than when she kidnapped his wife and daughter. Men. They have their priorities all wrong. “That was expensive.”

“It was a piece of shit. Get it? As in -”

“As in belonging in the toilet, yes. You wear ugly shirts too.”

Villanelle covers her mouth, eyes wide enough to permanently stretch her face.

“How dare you.”

“Go do your research.”

“I’ve done my research. Find evil twin, kill evil twin. Not that hard.”

“You have 24 hours,” Konstantin says. “And you owe me a new shirt.”

\--

Usually Villanelle loves funerals, but this one will be a bore. It’s not even open-casket. Half the people here are so old they look dead already. Maybe it’s actually a mass open-casket funeral and they sat the corpses around like guests.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she tells her victim. Kendra Lennox, Irish, dead guy’s daughter and the uglier twin. Villanelle’s Irish accent isn’t great. Sounds kind of Scouse. If anyone asks she’ll say she moved to Dublin when she was a teenager.

Kendra Lennox nods. “Thank you. And thank you for coming. How did you know my father, again?”

“We worked together.”

“I thought Dad worked from home.”

“Online. Conferences. Phone calls. Business.”

Kendra stares at her for a very long time. Was that not believable? Will bigger eyes make it more believable?

“Oh,” Kendra says softly. “You’re her.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just – you’re Phoebe. It’s fine. I get it now. Just maybe don’t speak to my mum.”

“Right,” Villanelle says. Who the fuck is Phoebe? Is Phoebe hot? “Yes. Phoebe.”

“My mum doesn’t know,” Kendra says, “about the affair. I don’t want her to know. She deserves a good memory of him.”

It seems the role she has to play is one of a dead man’s mistress. Could be worse. Could be a photographer. 

“How did you find out?” Villanelle asks. “About me.”

“I read his texts. They were – well. Excuse me, I need a moment alone.”

It isn’t the first time she’s been mistaken for someone else on a job. And it’s good. If anyone gets the blame, it might be this Phoebe character. Wonder if the real Phoebe’s shown up. Sitcom potential.

Kendra goes in to the room with the coffin. Soon they’ll bring that coffin through for the audience. They’ll cremate the body. It’s perfect.

Villanelle follows her in and locks the door behind her.

Kendra laughs wetly when she sees.

“So you’re that type of person. Good to know. I always wondered what you’d be like. Once I stole his phone and arranged to meet up with you, but I chickened out. Said he had food poisoning and couldn’t make it. You didn’t care and I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not.” The amount that Villanelle Does Not Care about whatever daddy issues this girl has. “I guess things like that never get through on text. Pity. If I knew what you were like I’d know what to say.”

“Cool.”

Kendra goes on like she hasn’t heard her. “I haven’t even seen him since the heart attack. I don’t want to. I asked for them to keep the casket shut. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Finally, something she can work with.

“I haven’t seen him either,” Villanelle says. Kendra’s smile is watery. “So let’s take a look.”

She flings the coffin open to Kendra’s gasp of horror. Ew. Dead guy looks so gross. His face is all twisted.

“He looks like salami,” Villanelle says. Kendra whimpers.

“Dad.”

But his shirt is nice and she owes Konstantin a shirt. The buttons are so hard to undo. What a pain.

“What are you doing?”

“Just taking a look at his chest. I miss it.”

“Phoebe -”

“There.” A small window at the top of the room sends light streaming through the shirt when she holds it up. “Perfect. No ruffles.”

“Why did you do that?”

Kendra’s in the corner of the room, like if she presses back far enough she’ll sink through the walls. Villanelle smiles.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You’ve said that.”

“I meant the loss of your twin.”

“Is that some kind of metaphor?”

“I mean your twin, Kendra. Identical. Flesh and blood. Same face, same eyes, better hair…”

“I’m an only child. I don’t have a sister.”

“No?” Villanelle twists the shirt, testing its strength. Yes, this will do nicely. “Then who did I kill last week? She begged me to stop, you know. Had to get her throat to shut her up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kendra says through tears. Turns out she’s a begger, too.

When it’s done Villanelle sits in on the rest of the funeral. It’s still boring, but she’s changed her mind on the casket thing. It’s a good thing it’s closed. Now nobody knows there’s two bodies in there.

And Konstantin better appreciate this shirt. Not many people can say their shirts have strangled someone.

\--

“It was a tight fit,” Villanelle says once they’re off the plane and in open Canadian air. “I had to put their arms and legs at weird angles. Like they were doing a dance.”

“The Danse Macabre,” Konstantin says. So pretentious. “Did her family notice she was missing?”

“They thought she ran away because she was so sad. They asked all the guests if we knew where she might be. I said I saw her run towards a McDonald’s.”

“I want McDonald’s,” Konstantin says. “Do they have McDonald’s in Canada?”

“Pretty sure it’s just woods and fields.” She sniffs. “And shit.”

“Come on, Princess Shit, let’s go find junk food.”

Villanelle is not in the mood for junk food. Villanelle is in the mood for wine. And Eve. But mostly wine.

“How many people am I supposed to kill here, anyway?” she asks once they’re in the car Konstantin hired. It’s a very dirty car. Someone spilled milk all over the backseat and left a permanent smell. They’ve got all the windows rolled all the way down and it’s still not doing the trick. “Did we fly all the way out here just for one?”

“It’s more than one.”

“How many more?”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“So is honesty.”

“So isn’t murder, which is what you do. Calm down and wait.”

“I thought we were doing private contracts now. ‘Going independent.’” She thinks her impression of him is pretty great, but he stares like she’s bombed a leading performance on Broadway. “Is this the same person as who ordered the hit on the twins? Why do they care what’s happening in Canada?”

“You have been hired by a group. Maybe they all have someone different for you to kill, maybe they want the same people dead, I don’t know. It’s not your job to know. It’s your job to act.”

“I would just like to know.” When Villanelle folds her arms it’s with a pout. Is she the most charming pouter in the world? Eve would probably think so. Eve would want to know. Maybe she should tell Eve where she is so she’ll show up and they can either fight or kiss, or both. “It’s just weird.”

“Says the girl who flushed a shirt down the toilet because she didn’t like ruffles.”

“It wasn’t about the ruffles.”

“If you’re going to say it was about me, I’ll crash this car.”

“And kill yourself?”

“To kill you? Yes.”

“You don’t need to overreact. It was just a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny. You aren’t funny. You never have been.”

“I am _hilarious_.”

“Tell a joke right now.”

“Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve heard that tons of times before.”

“Hold on, you didn’t let me finish. Why did the piece of gum cross the road?” She pauses. “Because it was stuck to the chicken’s foot.”

“That was terrible. You aren’t funny.”

Villanelle rolls her head. The wind is sending her hair every which way and she lost the bobble on her wrist flicking it at a flight attendant.

“Okay, here’s one.” She leans close. “Your family think you’re dead and you’ll never see them again.”

“That’s it?” Konstantin sounds unimpressed. “You’ve lost your touch.”

“Getting stabbed really takes it out of you.”

“So does getting shot. Speaking of, they don’t want any dramatic deaths. These deaths will be close in time and location. They don’t want an obvious link.”

“Boring. Next!”

“Make them look like accidents.”

“I don’t like accidents.”

“Most people don’t like deaths.”

“If they’re trying to stop a link, I can have one dramatic death. It won’t be traceable if it’s just one.”

Konstantin sighs. “Fine. One dramatic death. But I’ll know if you go over.”

“What do you mean by dramatic?”

“Anything that’s not an accident or a mugging.”

She perks up. “I can mug?”

“You can _pretend_ to mug. Get up the GPS, I want to find the nearest McDonald’s.”

Konstantin orders an atrocious amount from the drive thru. Villanelle gets a McFlurry that she throws out the window as soon as he passes it over.

“You’re worse than a child,” he tells her. It’s one of the nicest compliments he’s ever said.

“When’s the first kill?”

“Tonight. Her name is Alison Hendrix.”

\--

Alison Hendrix lives in suburbia. Just looking at the houses makes Villanelle want to fall asleep.

“You have an hour,” Konstantin informs. “I’ll be back here then.”

“Where are you going?”

“Driving around. Didn’t you see the sign? This place has Neighbourhood Watch.”

When he drives off the street is silent. Weirdo. Who’s scared of Neighbourhood Watch? The same type of people that think Villanelle’s laugh is ‘deranged’, AKA losers.

35 Black Oak Drive is silent. She’s decided to save her dramatic murder, so this will have to be a boring one. At least it’ll suit the area. Boring woman, boring neighbourhood, boring death. Piece of cake.

She hasn’t had a picture, but apparently she’ll know her when she sees her. Which turns out to be right, because when she sets off the porch light and goes to pick the lock of the back door, a woman who looks just like the last two is standing behind the door with a gun.

“Oh my gosh,” Alison Hendrix says through the glass. “Donnie! Don’t move, whoever you are, my husband is coming.”

“Right,” Villanelle says, raising her arms. “You should open the door, it’s really hard to hear through it.”

“What did you say?”

“I can barely hear you through the door.”

“You’ll have to speak louder, I can’t tell what you’re saying through the door.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and grabs the handle. Alison pushes the gun right up to the glass.

“Don’t you move a muscle, or I will shoot. The only reason I haven’t is because you might be from DYAD.”

“I am from DYAD,” Villanelle says. What’s with these triplets always thinking she’s someone relevant who’s not about to murder them? “So open the door.”

Alison Hendrix’s husband appears with a – firepoker? – behind her. Great, now she has to kill them both.

He mouths something like ‘Get away from my wife’. Alison doesn’t face him, but her face does spasm.

“You’ll have to talk louder, Donnie. The glass.”

“Who are you?” Donnie Hendrix demands. Villanelle waves.

“I’m from DYAD. Let me in.”

“If you do a thing to hurt my family -” Alison starts, but Villanelle just nods.

“You’ll shoot me, yes, let me in.”

Letting her in might just be the biggest mistake in Alison Hendrix’s life, but she’ll see how she feels first. This is getting interesting.

“So,” Villanelle says. The house is even more boring from the inside. At least when you’ve only seen the front there’s room for a little imagination. “Were you separated at birth?”

“Very funny,” Alison snaps. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. I thought that was obvious.”

“It’s pretty late to be looking for me.”

“Yes, well, here I am. It’s very important that this happen under the cover of night.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Villanelle says. Somehow that works. “Alison Hendrix. I need you to come with me.”

Alison’s gun hand twitches. The other pulls at her ponytail.

“I’m not leaving without my husband.”

Donnie Hendrix can go die in a hole for all Villanelle cares. He doesn’t have the same face as two other people.

“I’m afraid he’s not allowed. Just you.”

“What accent is that?” Donnie cuts in. “Is that Ukrainian? Do you know Helena?”

Who the Helena is that?

“Sort of,” Villanelle says. “Mrs Hendrix, please. There’s a car waiting outside.”

“I’m bringing my gun,” Alison says. She’s in her dressing gown and her hair’s a mess. “Can I get dressed first?”

“No. It has to be now.”

Konstantin must have sensed the plan going wrong, because he’s in front of the house fifty minutes earlier than he said he’d be, eyeing the very alive Alison Hendrix with displeasure.

“What’s going on?”

“Konstantin,” Villanelle says, leaning to his window. Alison’s hand is in her pocket, and in that pocket is her gun. “This is the third girl in a row to have the same face.”

Konstantin doesn’t move. “So? Maybe they’re triplets.”

“You have a list of people I was sent here to get. Will they all look like this?”

His eyes flicker over to Alison.

“I don’t know.”

“Well get knowing, because this is weird. I don’t like it.”

“You get to kill people, what do you care?”

Villanelle shushes him as hard as she can. Somehow Alison has missed the word ‘kill’ and is looking about the neighbourhood like she’s a criminal for being outside. Maybe she’s worried about Neighbourhood Watch.

“You need to come with us,” Villanelle tells her. “Give me the gun and get in the back seat.”

“I’m not giving you my gun.”

“If you don’t do as you’re told, DYAD will send someone else and they’ll come for your family.”

Relying on a nameless entity to motivate people is so much fun. She’s straight-up made corporations up in the past and that’s worked.

“This is a complete breach of the contract,” Alison complains as Villanelle pushes her into the back. Does she ever stop talking? “I’m going to be writing a strongly worded email. Holy jamolies, what is that smell?”

“Someone spilled milk.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Do it out the window. Konstantin, who’s next on the list?”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “We aren’t supposed to go there until tomorrow.”

“Here’s a deal: we go and if she looks the same, we keep going. If she doesn’t, I do what I’m supposed to.”

Konstantin is silent for a very long time before: “Deal.”

\--

Alison spends the car ride alternating between loudly complaining, shifting in her seat, and being very scared. It gets tiring after five minutes, but Villanelle turns the radio at full blast and doesn’t even care when a truly awful country song comes on.

Konstantin switches it off.

“This song is terrible.”

Villanelle switches it back on.

“I like it.”

Click.

“It’s bad.”

Click.

“It’s louder than her.”

Click.

“My car, my rules.”

Click.

“It’s rented, and those aren’t rules. I saw no contract. Ugh, the smell.”

“Isn’t it awful?” Alison chips in. Villanelle screws her nose at her.

“I was talking about you.”

“Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to? I do smell, I use lotions every day and I carry body spray when I’m not kidnapped. If anyone smells it’s you. When did you last shower?”

“I’ve been sat in a stinky car!”

“I at least thought I’d get kidnapped by someone with a decent budget,” Alison mutters. “Or basic manners. Either would do, you know. Who are you going to now?”

“Cosima Neihaus,” Konstantin says, meeting Alison’s eyes in the mirror. “Know her?”

Alison’s laugh is sharp. She’s the opposite to Eve, but for some reason it makes Villanelle think of Eve. Does Eve know about these girls? Is it worth letting her know?

“You two aren’t really DYAD, are you? Oh, fiddlesticks, I’ve made a mistake.”

“We are DYAD,” Villanelle sayss. The double laughs let her know exactly how convincing she was. “Okay, fine, we’re not DYAD. We’re more important than them. How many people look like you?”

Alison is ramrod straight.

“I don’t think I should answer that.”

“Don’t think,” Villanelle suggests, smiling with all her teeth. “Tell us about Cosma.”

“Cosima,” Konstantin corrects.

“Whatever. Cosma sounds cooler.”

“What’s your name?” Alison asks. It’s the first interesting thing she’s done.

“Villanelle. If you’re lucky, it’ll be the last name you hear.”

\--

“Hello, Cosima Neihaus,” Villanelle says. “I am with DYAD. Alison Hendrix is in the car. Come with me if you want her live.”

Cosima Neihaus rubs her eyes.

“Dude, it’s like, four in the morning.” She squints. “Are you a clone? I don’t have my glasses.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me. Come with me or Alison dies. My colleague has a gun to her head right now.” As far as she knows he doesn’t, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if Konstantin actually does kill Alison. He wasn’t happy that she’s still alive. If they weren’t given the accident quota, she’d probably be dead meat by now. “Hurry up.”

“Let me get my glasses. And I need coffee.”

“You aren’t taking this seriously.”

“That’s what you get for waking me up.”

When Cosima has her glasses on and can see Alison looking scared in the car, her demeanour changes.

“Oh,” she says. “You were serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“Right,” Cosima says. “Are we about to get shot in a back alley?”

Villanelle smiles.

“I guess you’ll have to come with me and see.”

“How many are you going to collect?” Konstantin demands when Cosima’s in the car and whispering with Alison. Whatever. The doors are locked, their only hope is climbing out the window on a motorway which is a. impossible to do quickly, and b. more likely to get them killed than just staying here. And Villanelle’s made it very clear she has Alison’s gun. “I am not your taxi driver. We’ll run out of room after one more.”

“So we’ll get a minibus.”

“No, we won’t. You can’t collect a bunch of clones like trophies. They’re human beings.”

“So?”

“So they should be killed.”

“Holy shit,” Cosima says. “You are going to kill us.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Villanelle tells her. “Depends how annoying you are. So shut up.”

“Right,” Cosima says, "shutting up. But I’m just wondering, do you _not_ work for DYAD? Are you Proletheans? Why are you even after us?”

“Villanelle is an assassin,” Konstantin says. “She was hired to kill you. If she doesn’t do it soon I will get very angry.”

Villanelle turns as fully in her seat as she can. Her seatbelt is done and if they crash she’s fucked, but some things are more important than road safety.

“So you’re clones?” she asks. “That is so interesting. My girlfriend would love to hear about it. Maybe I should bring her your corpses when I’m done.”

“I’m surprised you’re not a clone,” Cosima says. “Uh, no offence. Just that we’ve had a clone assassin before and she turned out to be one of us. Maybe you’ve met her, she’s blonde and Ukrainian? Has angel wing scars?”

“She likes food,” Alison says. These clones are annoying. She’s going to enjoy killing them. Probably won’t make it look like an accident, though. “If you want a fight, you should look for her! We won’t be any fun to murder. Believe me, people have tried.”

Both of them flinch when Villanelle lifts the gun. It’s hilarious.

“The only reason you’re alive right now is because I think it’s cool that you’re clones. If you all turn out to be boring, I’ll do it. I might do it anyway. I don’t know. How interesting is Rachel Duncan?”

“Is she next on the list?” Alison asks, voice hushed.

“No, she’s last, which is why I’m asking you now. Of course she’s next. Duh. Do you all share the same brain? Is that why you’re so stupid?”

“Rachel’s a lot like you,” Cosima says. “You’ll like Rachel.”

“Do _you_ like Rachel?”

“Fucking hate her.”

Villanelle tuts. “That isn’t nice. What about the others on the list? Who are the others, Konstantin?”

“Sarah Manning. Helena, one name. Krystal Goderitch. Lisa Glynn. Those are the current names. Apparently once you are done there are more. Do you plan on being done some time soon?”

Truth be told, she’s not sure what she’s doing right now. She’s probably going to kill these women and then the rest. Whoever hired her can’t complain as long as they end up dead, right? She’ll say she framed some random kidnapper. Whatever. She can sort it out later.

Konstantin declares that he’s too tired to keep driving, but there’s a motel nearby. When he goes and gets a room key the clones make the mistake of trying to get away, but Villanelle puts a stop to that quickly. Honestly, it’s like they think she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Oof,” Villanelle says. Alison’s holding her probably-broken wrist and Cosima’s rubbing her split lip. “That looked like it hurt. Don’t try that again, okay? Or next time will be worse.”

“I think I preferred Helena to you,” Cosima says. Villanelle smiles.

Konstantin’s asleep and snoring as soon as both clones have been tied with bedsheets to the radiators. It’s Villanelle’s job to watch them, but they’re not going anywhere, so she sneaks out to the phonebooth on the motel’s side. It’s freezing out here. She should’ve brought a thicker jacket. She’ll steal one from Rachel Duncan. If Rachel Duncan turns out not to have one, she’ll be dead in five minutes.

“I’m going to blow up the Tower of London,” she says into the phone. “Get me Eve Polastri.”

It seems like forever before the phone goes through. When it clicks the day feels new, fresh. She finally has something to do.

“Eve,” Villanelle says. “There are clones in Canada. Come and find them.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
